journal posts

Dec. 2nd, 2014

Dec. 2nd, 2014

[It's been a while, Paradisa, but there is a light-blue space marine patrolling the halls again. Just breaking 7' with her full suit on, her right arm a robotic prosthetic that moves as fluidly as if it were flesh and blood, she can be found making her way about the interior of the castle, reading all of the nameplates and look for anyone familiar. She dictates into the journal as she does, in her thick Israeli accent]

[Will had taken his journal with him as he went to walk through the garden, thinking of checking to see what his closest friends had been up to. But as he walked, his thoughts strayed to the time of year. This would be his third birthday here in Paradisa, and his third Christmas.

Three years since he had seen his brothers and sisters. Three years since Bran and the Drews had forgotten so much of their friendship.

It was a lot to think about. Eventually Will finds his way to a bench. And with his thoughts on Christmas and on his home, he begins to softly singsome of the carols that came first to mind. The ancient melodies sung in a high clear voice echo out through the garden and across the journals hauntingly.

Eventually Will comes, as he might have expected, to Old King Wenceslas. Without thinking he begins on his part, the pageboy's part, which he had last sung with his brothers and with Merriman.]

Sire, the night is darker now And the wind blows stronger Fails my heart, I know not how, I can go no longer.

[And Will falters, knowing that there was no one here who could take the next part.]